


Shock

by Anonymous



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Android Politics, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) is Bad at Feelings, Connor is traumatized, Disability, Emotional Recovery, Hurt/Comfort, Permanent Injury, loss of hearing, loss of sight
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:02:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23108923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: It had happened so fast. One second he had been simply watching the plaza, dimly aware of his fellow colleagues around him, and the next second an arm had wrapped itself around his chest. A buzz, one that his processor matched to that of a taser, by his ear.His vision turned grey blue, preconstruction running hot in his processor. Scenario after scenario playing out in front of them, none of the successful. Warnings about the now illegal use of tasers against androids after several high profile cases of androids being severly, sometimes permanently, damaged scrolling over his HUD.The next moment, electricity rippled over his temple, his head, his processor.
Relationships: Hank Anderson & Connor
Comments: 44
Kudos: 255
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Loss

It had happened so fast. One second he had been simply watching the plaza, dimly aware of his fellow colleagues around him, and the next second an arm had wrapped itself around his chest. A buzz, one that his processor matched to that of a taser, by his ear.

His vision turned gray blue, preconstruction running hot in his processor. Scenario after scenario playing out in front of them, none of the successful. Warnings about the now illegal use of tasers against androids after several high profile cases of androids being severly, sometimes permanently, damaged scrolling over his HUD.

The next moment, electricity rippled over his temple, his head, his processor. 

He doesn’t know if he screamed, or if he did anything at all. His vision is red, like the LED on his temple, but he can’t se anything, can’t see anything except the jumble of glitching warnings, of messages he can’t make out, can’t read all of a sudden.

There is a constant crackle in his ear, deafening, but not enough to drown out the screams around him. He can’t make out the words, or if there even are words. He can’t make out anything. His vision is red, his ear crackles, his processor struggle under the weight of everything, under the still surging spikes of electricity.

Fear. Fear pounds in him. Hotter than the red blinding him. Louder than the crackle deafening him. He should check for his stress levels, but he can’t and it only makes him fear more. He can’t make out a single warning in front of him, can’t make sense of any of them. 

Another surge of electricity, still trapped within him, and his processor spikes, races, struggles, before he finally begins shutting down. One by one, his processes fault, terminate, until it’s only the red of his vision left, and the all encompassing fear.

  
And then, that too disappears.

* * *

  
  
  


> REBOOTING

> INITIATING

...

...

...

> WARNING:

> BIOCOMPONENT 1835j CRITICALLY DAMAGED

> PLEASE CONTACT CYBERLIFE FOR A REPLACEMENT

> BIOCOMPONENT 9381k CRITICALLY DAMAGED

> PLEASE CONTACT CYBERLIFE FOR A REPLACEMENT

> BIOCOMPONENT 4810 CRITICALLY DAMAGED

> PLEASE CONTACT CYBERLIFE FOR A REPLACEMENT

> BIOCOMPONENT 2910s CRITICALLY DAMAGED

> PLEASE CONTACT CYBERLIFE FOR A REPLACEMENT

> INITIATING

...

...

...

> ALL SYSTEMS ONLINE

> REBOOT COMPLETE

  
  


Connor blinks, the world slowly coming into focus again. He blinks once again, feeling the lenses in his eyes shift as they adjust to the ambient lighting around him. Once more, eyelids closing and tiny motors whirring inside of him. And once more.

Still, the world doesn’t look quite right. The left side of his vision bleeds at the edges, fine lines intersecting the image, like the scan lines of a crt tv. He brings a hand up to feel around his optical unit, pressing it gently against his skull in case it has slid a little out of alignment.

> WARNING: OPTICAL UNIT DAMAGED

> BIOCOMPONENTS 4810 & 9381k CRITICALLY DAMAGED

> PLEASE CONTACT CYBERLIFE FOR A REPLACEMENT

He frowns at the warning that appears on his HUD. That, too, doesn’t look right. It’s a struggle to make out what the words say, as if his ocr software isn’t working as it should. His optical unit being damaged doesn’t affect his internal HUD, unless something is wrong with that too.

> RUNNING DIAGNOSTIC

“-nnor”

He looks away from the progress bar on his HUD and turns toward the sound. With a small jump he realizes it’s Hank, standing less than 2 meters away from him. He should have heard the other one approaching much, much sooner. 

A creeping feeling of discomfort starts to build within him.

“Hank.” He speaks. The other moves closer, sits down on the small chair beside him. It’s not until now that Connor realizes he’s not at home, or in the plaza, but in a room used for diagnostics and repairs in the one newly opened ward for androids in detroit hospital. He’s no longer in uniform, instead wearing patient scrubs under the thin sheet covering his legs and middle.

“How are you feeling, son?” Hank asks. His voice sounds weird, muffled, as if he’s speaking through a wall. Connor turns further toward him.

“What happened?” He asks, blinking once again to try and correct the bleeding of his vision. “I’m damaged.” He adds, deciding to force reset his left optical unit. His vision blinks once as the unit turns off. For the first time since he opened his eyes, his vision is clear, but insufficient. With only one optical unit online, his field of view is halved, the left side of the room disappearing, and his sense of depth severely compromised. None of his visual based analytical software would be able to run like this.

“Connor.” Hank sighs. It’s a little easier to hear him like this, facing the source of the sound, almost like normal. 

  
His optical unit blinks back online, and once again the left side of his vision starts to bleed, lines piercing through it. 

“There is something wrong with my vision.” He says, blinking once more to try to force the lense to focus. But they don’t. The world continues to bleed, Hank looking fuzzy around the edges. “I require repairs.”

“The technicians did what they could, Connor.” Hank says. Connor reaches up toward his optical unit, intending on plucking it out and inserting it once again to see if that fixes the problem. There is something wrong with the information feed, something that makes his processor not be able to read it properly.

Hank’s hand lands on his, stopping him.

“I’m sorry.” He says. Connor blinks again, head twitching with the force of it.

  
“I don’t understand.” He says. Why is he sorry? If the damage could not be repaired, they would simply have to replace the biocomponents. Cyberlife had done that several times with him before whenever he got damaged. In fact, it was almost always more cost and time effective to just replace the damaged biocomponent instead of trying to repair it.

“Do you remember what happened?” Hank asks. 

  
Connor pauses, searching through his memory files. There is a gap of 45 hours 18 minutes and 54 seconds between him rebooting here and going offline. Before that is just a corrupted memory of red, and fear, and crackling so loud it’s like thunder in his ear.

  
He doesn’t realize he’s moved until Hank gently grabs his hand again, pulling it away from his left ear.

> WARNING: AUDIO PROCESSOR DAMAGED

> BIOCOMPONENT 1835j CRITICALLY DAMAGED

> PLEASE CONTACT CYBERLIFE FOR A REPLACEMENT

“It’s okay, Connor. You’re okay.” Hank says, and once again it sounds as if he’s speaking to him through a wall. Connor turns his head toward the other again, feeling fear start to thrum inside of him.

  
“What happened, Hank?”

  
  


* * *

  
  


It’s with a strange sort of detachment he follows the technicians instructions. Like before he deviated. Unquestioning, without reflection. Just, following orders for the sake of following them. 

He turns off the visual input of his left optical unit when asked, reports that his right is functioning perfectly. He repeats the process, turning off the right optical unit, and the world turns even blurrier, lines running up and down his vision. He reports that the optical unit is unable to focus, that there is bleeding, that there are visual glitches in the form of horizontal lines, that only the blue channels operate to 100% efficiency, the green at 93%, the red at 78%. 

He sits perfectly still as she holds a small box in front of him, clicking it and letting a note fill the air around him. B sharp, he reports, 62dB. She moves it to his right ear. D flat this time. 67dB. Behind him the box lets out an C natural at 59 dB. His left ear. He hesitates at the note for a long time. She plays it once more. 23dB his right audio processor picks up. The note is unclear. He says G.

She says A flat.

Irreparable damage cause by short circuits and electrical surges due to the taser. Possible still undiagnosed damaged to his processor. Only time would tell. No replacements available. Since he was a prototype cyberlife hadn’t been required to release his schematics to the public, a compromise to ensure no information not already copyrighted was made public.

Hank has to steady him when he walks. His gyroscope is out of alignment. It will take a few days the technician says. No she can’t say how many. She’s sorry. He should try calibration exercises to help it go faster. No they won’t help his vision or hearing. She’s sorry.

The tv in the lobby plays a news report of the events while he waits for Hank to finish the last of the paperwork. He can see himself, laughing at something officer Miller said, before he’s grabbed. The spark of the taser is ice blue against his temple. 

He can see himself drop, can see the panic unfold, can see the assailant run away, people to stunned to do anything about it. He can see the himself twitch on the ground, mechanical, like a broken toy, and detective Reed out of all people dropping down next to him, cushioning his head and quickly running through the motions of first aid.

_ Don’t you fucking die on me you piece of shit! I’m not dealing with Hank’s bullshit if you do _

The words are fuzzy, full of static, and all he knows is that they can’t come from the TV. He can’t hear it. Whether that be because it’s muted or...

He can’t hear the tv.

His portrait appears on the screen, the feed cutting back to the studio where the news anchor continues to read off the teleprompt. 

**NATION’S FIRST ANDROID OFFICER IN CRITICAL CONDITION AFTER ASSAULT WEDNESDAY**

The words roll on the banner under her. Connor can’t look away, despite wanting to. The video plays again, inserted into a small square this time as the anchor continues to talk. The video is short. Barely 10 seconds. Icy blue spark. Him dropping to the ground. Panic. Detective Reed by his side. This time he can see the way his skin is receding from the point where the taser made contact. Half his face is gone by the time the video cuts away.

The news story changes. Connor doesn’t know what to. He’s looking down at his hands. His skin projection is still online on them. But he doesn’t know about his face. Touching doesn’t tell him anything. His sensors are damaged. He can’t tell.

He wants to know if he still looks like himself.

Hank returns to him before he can.

* * *

  
  


His skin works. His eye doesn’t. The left side of his iris is neon blue, the projection of his brown irises broken. Black has bled into the white surrounding the area, like burst blood vessels branching out the other corner of his eye. His pupil is broken, a spike of neon blue shooting right through it. 

There are two dots on his left temple, white, where the taser burned his chassis, melting the plastic. 

He almost looks like himself. Almost.

Almost


	2. Discovery

> CALIBRATION 86% COMPLETE

Connor turns on his heel once again, stepping down the short set of stairs leading from the porch to the yard. Sumo is watching him. Connor is watching the percentage slowly tick up with each step he takes, his internal gyroscope slowly aligning itself once again. He’s been at it all day today, and all day yesterday. 

It was slow work. Gyroscopic alignment was usually only done before first activation, and in controlled lab environments if ever done after. Thankfully, his gyroscope hadn’t gotten completely thrown off. He had started at 53%, which was enough for him to be able to walk with support. An alignment from below 50% would have taken exponentially longer.

He walks up the steps once again, hand held out in case he needs to steady himself, and then down again. Ideally, he would be preforming a wider range of movements, running, jumping, but with the limited space of Hank’s house he would have to settle for what little options were available.

He could leave and go someplace more suitable for calibrations, of course. He has a key, Hank wouldn’t stop him, there is an outdoor gym in the park 15 minutes away from here. But-

He turns, leg folding under him. His hands shoot out, reaching for the railing. He crashes to the porch with a groan, hands clambering to the railing but not fast enough to stop his fall. Sumo hurries over to him, nose gently buffing at him as he gets back up on his feet. Connor brushes the dirt away from his pants, frustration flaring up inside of him.

He stands still for a long moment, blinking his left eye furiously as he tries to get it to  _ focus _ . It won’t. He knows it won’t. He still tries, force resetting it and tasting the bitter taste of disappointment on his tongue as it comes back online and nothing has changed. 

It’s only the third day since he woke up, and already he’s noticed that the damage to his optical unit is affecting more than just his vision. It’s like a domini effect. Everything that is reliant on the visual data he gathers is affected. It takes longer for his processor to calculate his spatial relations, not by much, 0.03 seconds, but it’s enough. It’s enough for him to have grown clumsy. Maybe not by human measurements, but for an android certainly.

He’s  _ not _ supposed to stumble like this! He’s not supposed to fumble with his little things, drop things because he’s not grabbing them as he should  _ because he can’t fucking see where they are _ . He’s not supposed to be this broken.

Sumo whines by his legs, sound disappearing and reappearing as the dog circles him. Connor closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and walks down the stairs once more.

> CALLIBRATION 86.7% COMPLETE

* * *

  
  
  


He is granted two weeks of sick leave. So he can “get used to things”. He complains to Hank that he doesn’t need that sort of time off. That he’s perfectly capable of returning to work already. He’s an  _ android _ . He’s been repaired. He doesn’t need to recover. He’s not like humans. He’s functioning within accept-

Hank’s hand presses against his chest, stopping him in his step, making him stumble. Any word either of them had to say die on their lips instantly.

Connor’s calibrations are stuck at 94%, have been for the past two days despite what he does. It’s not enough for anyone to notice. Except in moments like these. 

Connor stares at Hank, at the lines that creep in from the left. Hank’s eyes are sad, pitying him.

“I know this is hard for you, Connor-”

Connor turns away, turns toward his room.

  
“-But you can’t just! CONNOR! Fucking hell.”

He can tell from the strain in Hank’s voice he screams the last part. He can’t hear it though. The words register as loud whispers in his processor. And when Connor closes the door after him and covers his right ear, he can’t hear anything at all.

  
  


* * *

  
  


“Let’s go.” Hank says.

Connor looks up from where he’s running calibration on his optical unit, to no effect. A frown appears on his face.

“Where?” He asks. He doesn’t turn to face Hank. Hank is standing on his right. Connor has noticed that the other has started to always approach him from the right nowadays. Or maybe he just doesn’t notice when Hank approaches from the left. He knows he should be grateful for the consideration though, but all he feels instead is frustration. Burning frustration.

  
“The station.” Hank says, pulling on his jacket.

  
“Why?” Connor asks. He still has a week left of his forced leave.

“Ben Collins texted. He wants you to come in for a statement on what happened.” 

“I can send him my memory file of the even. That should be more than sufficient.” Connor replies, turning back to the table and continuing his calibration sequence.

“He wants to talk to you in person. Procedures and all.” Hank replies. 

“Procedures say that if an android is unable or unwilling, they can offer-

“Oh for fucks sake Connor. Just come with me, will you.” Hank snaps, making Connor look back up at him. Hank sighs, rubbing his hand over his face before locking eyes with Connor. “You can’t stay holed up here. Let’s head out, drop by the station, and then maybe go to the park or something. Get you a change of scenery.” 

Connor holds his eyes for a long moment, hesitance swirling withing him, before he nods and stands up. Hank holds out his jacket for him and Connor grabs it on his way out, not saying another word as he steps out the door.

The ride to the station is quiet. Hank doesn’t talk, and Connor is grateful for it. His right audio processor picks up the sound of gravel under the tires, of the wind outside the car, of the rumble of the engine. His left audio processor doesn’t pick up on anything.

Marisa, the ST300 in reception, perks up when she spots them, her now short brown hair pulled back from her face with a simple clip. 

“I didn’t think you’d be back so soon.” She says, smiling up at Connor. Connor can’t muster up a smile in return. 

“Just here for a statement.” He explains, and Marisa’s face falls ever so slightly.

“Still, it’s good to see you. I hope you’re doing okay. We were all worried for you.” She says as she checks them in on her terminal.

“I’m fine.” Connor replies.

She doesn’t say anything else. Neither does Connor as they head deeper into the station and into the bullpen.

  
“Hank! Connor!” Officer Miller waves at them from his desk, standing up and walking over with a broad grin. “It’s good to see you again.” He claps Connor on the shoulder. Connor nods, trying not to make it too obvious he’s angling himself to hear Miller better.

“Thank you.” He replies with a small nod. Miller watches him, his eyes lingering on Connor’s left for a brief moment, just long enough for Connor to notice. 

Something bubbles up inside of him. Something he hasn’t felt since his early days of deviancy. Shame. Red hot and ugly. It starts in his pump regulator and with each whir it seems to spread further and further inside of him. 

He looks away, pretending to spot something to the left of him.

“We were worried for you, man. Things seemed kinda rough there for a moment.” Miller continues. Connor doesn’t say anything, doesn’t know what to say to the man. He wonders if he knows. If anyone here knows. 

“Okay, well we need to get going. Ben wants a statement.” Hank says, his hand landing on Connor’s arm and gently leading him forward. “Nice talking to you Chris.” 

No one else talks to them as they make their way over toward the interrogation rooms.

Detective Collins is waiting inside, a folder open in front of him and a coffee that Connor’s sensors, after a moment of struggling, tells him has gone luke warm. Ben looks up as they step in through the door, gentle smile on his lips as he stands up to greet them.

“It’s good to see you again. How are you doing, Connor?” He asks, gesturing for Connor to sit down in front of him.

“I’m fine.” Connor replies, steadying himself with a hand on the table as he sits down. He hasn’t had any mishaps with his gyroscope yet today, but he’s not going to risk it here.

“Good to hear, good to hear.” Collins says, casting a look toward Hank who’s leaning back against the wall. “I just wanted to take your statement, get your perspective on what happened.” He continues, reaching for a small handheld recorder. His hand stops inches away from the record button, a frown suddenly appearing on his face. “Because you are pressing charges, right?” 

“He is.” Hank replies behind him. 

Collins ignores the lieutenant, eyebrows raising in question toward Connor. Connor looks away for a second. He hadn’t thought about it, but, now, when asked, it feels like it’s the right thing to do. 

“I am.” He says. Collins nods and pushes down the record button.

“Today is Wednesday the 11th of March 2040, 13:19. Me, detective Ben Collins, is taking the statement of the victim, Connor, serial number 313 248 317 regarding the assault that occurred on Monday afternoon the 2nd of March 2040. Lieutenant Hank Anderson is also present.” Collins begins, following the script, before turning to Connor.

“So Connor, can you tell me what happened?” He asks.

“I was on duty at Hart Plaza to maintain public order during the upcoming gathering. At 14:38 I was speaking to Officer Miller about his son, when someone grabbed me from behind and-” His words suddenly falter. The first prickles of fear creep up his spine, which isn’t logical since there are no threats present. “-And tased me.” He finishes.

“Good.” Collins nods, expression still gentle. “Were you able to make out who your attacker was?” 

“No.” Connor shakes his head. It had happened so fast. He had just been laughing over Damian getting angry over not being allowed to eat dirt and the next second he had been on the ground, panic ripping him apart.

“Were you able to see anything that could help us identify who they were.” Collins asks. Connor shakes his head again. He didn’t see anything. Nothing more than red. Red, red and red.

“Are you sure? It doesn’t matter what you saw, no detail is too small.” Collins urges. Connor is about to shake his head again when the memory of getting grabbed replays before him. The icy blue of his preconstruction program kicking in, the crackle in his left ear. Before him, his options play out once more, seeming even more useless now than they had felt in the moment. But there, as the arm passes over his chest again, crossing his eyes for less than a second, he sees-

“They have a tattoo of the android symbol for freedom, the upside down triangle, on the inside of their wrist.” Connor says. Collins nods at him to go on. “They had a grey jacket. And they were strong, strong enough to hold me back...” He trails off, something cold settling into his middle.

Collins nods again, taking notes. Connor ignores the little sign to go on, his processor replaying the memory of the assault once more, the tattoo, the shape of the hand, the strength. With every rewatch, the probability of his theory being correct rises another few percent.

“Oh fuck.” Hank breathes at the same time as Connor speaks:

“I think they were an android.” 


	3. Return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short little update for now. 
> 
> Connor is not in a good headspace for this chapter, or for a good part of the future chapters. Time for the hurt

They return home just in time to catch the end of Markus’ statement.

“We have full confidence in the DPD and their ability to catch the assailant. We know that they, as well as we, Jericho, do not endorse these sort of actions taken against the android community and my people. 

“As always, I am saddened to see one of our own hurt in such a way. Our heart goes out to Connor and those near to him. Your people stand with you. Thank you.”

Hank turns off the television before the news anchors can start commenting on the statement. Connor doesn’t move. Markus’ words replay themselves in his head

_ Your people stand with you _

“They think a human did it.” He says. His people doesn’t stand by him. His people attacked him.

“Can we blame them.” Hank sighs, sinking down in the couch and allowing Sumo to rest his head on his jeans despite the drool hanging from the side of the dog’s mouth. “It usually, almost exclusively, is.”

“This will be the first case in Detroit of an android assaulting another android.” Connor speaks, having pulled up the record on his HUD. His ocr software is still slow, better, but slow. It’s a struggle to read the exact details, but he can make out enough to confirm what he already knew. He’s one of the only cases since the revolution. Possibly the only where it’s planned assault, and not accidental or spur of the moment.

Hank doesn’t say anything for a moment, his mouth working wordlessly, before he finally finds the words.

“We don’t know for certain they’re an android yet.”

“You saw the footage.” Connor replies. There had been one more person filming the event, a human intending on uploading to their social media that they would partake in the demonstration for androids’ right to education. They had caught the attack and contacted the DPD. The face of the attacker had been visible for a few frames in the video. A 95% match to the TW400 models known face make ups. The chances of the attacker not being an android was less than 3%.

“Yeah.” Hank sighs, looking away from Connor. Connor remains where he is for another moment, hands clasping his jacket, before he can make himself pull it off and retreat back to his room.

* * *

  
  
  


_ How are you doing? Is there anything we can help with? _

It takes Connor a moment to read the words on his HUD, hands stilling where they’re doing the dishes. The message is from Markus. The option to reply blinks on his HUD.

_ I am doing well considering. Thank you for asking. _

He types back, taking a moment to read through the reply. Him an Markus have been in frequent contact since the revolution. He would count him a friend the same way he counts officer Miller a friend, and Officer Chen. They rarely talk outside of official business though, Connor still being the only android in the DPD on active duty and therefore semi-officialy the android spokesperson for the force in connection to Jericho. 

This is the first time Markus contacts him regarding personal matters.

_ Good to hear. _

Connor doesn’t know how to respond to that.

_ Simon, Josh, North and the others send their well wishes too. We were all pretty shaken up by what happened. I can’t imagine how it must have felt for you. _

The message appears only a second after the first. Connor stares at it for a long moment.

_ Tell them thank you from me _ . 

He replies, ignoring the second part of the message. He has learnt by now humans often say things they don’t want an actual answer too, mostly in lieu of something else, and many androids have taken after them. He knows Markus means well, but still frustration sparks up in him.

_ Will do! Hope to see you back on the force soon. Many of us are grateful to have you there, it makes Detroit safer for all of us. _

Connor blinks, the lines rolling over his vision growing worse for a second. He can feel his hands shake suddenly, a warning blinking on his HUD about his stress levels. Markus doesn’t know. Doesn’t even care to know, to entertain the possibility that and android had done this. Had- had-

Had rendered him  _ useless _ .

The image of the android freedom symbol flash before him, before a sign of strength now forever tainted. 

_ The attacker was an android _

He sends before he can stop himself. It’s not public knowledge. Markus isn’t supposed to know before they have made sure. It’s sensitive information. It has to be handled with care or it could have unforeseen effects on the still fragile relation between humans and androids.

The glass in his hand shatter.

Connor jumps, staring down at his hand. The glass has cut open the artificial skin, blue blood slowly starting to well up from the wounds. Behind him, Sumo buffs his head against Connor’s legs with a worried whine.

He stares at the cuts for a moment longer, watching the thirium pool in his palm before dripping down into the water, staining it.

He hadn’t bled that day.

It feels unfair somehow.

* * *

  
  
  


He’s allowed to return to the station the next wednesday. Putting on his uniform feels weird. He knows it’s not the same as the one he was attacked in. That one has been thrown out.

“Looking smart.” Hank comments, clapping him on the shoulder. Connor nods, pulling down his hat a little further, trying to cover the two white dots on his temple.

“You know, you can stay home longer if you feel you need to. No one would blame you.” Hank’s voice is quiet. Connor almost can’t hear it.

“I want to go back.” He says. It’s the truth.

  
  


* * *

  
  


There is a ‘get better soon’ card waiting for him at his desk when he comes back. The signatures of the rest of the officers working at the station are inside, along with Hank’s. He stares at it for a long moment before placing it down next to the little succulent he got on his ‘birthday’ last year.

People come by to clap him on the shoulder, talking to him about how happy they are to see him back. He sits with his left side to the bullpen. He tries not to twist his head too unnaturally when they talk to him. 

He catches how they all linger on his eye for a moment. He wants to hide it, like he wants to hide the dots decorating his temple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like this story please leave a comment telling me so! Promise you it will make me update faster ;3


	4. Shame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another update. Who's ready for some redeemable ass hole Gavin? Also, thank you all for your sweet comments. They really motivate me!

“-tinman?” 

Detective Reed’s words are muffled, the whir of the thirium dispenser to his right (installed for his sake a few months back) blocking out most of the sound.

He turns around, watching Gavin walk up to the coffee maker next to him.

“I’m sorry?” He says, making sure to keep his right side to Gavin. Gavin frowns for a second, finger hovering over the button for an americano, before he slowly presses it.

  
“I said finally back?” He repeats, his eyes sliding over Connor’s face for a moment, lingering for an uncomfortably long moment at Connor’s eye.

“See, Connor, this is why androids and humans are different.” Gavin says as he turns back to his cup of coffee. Connor feels irritation spark up in him before Gavin continues. “Any human would have milked at least another week off for that shit. I mean a fucked up eye! That can get you a new kitchen if you play your cards right.”

Connor blinks, once again unsure if he heard Gavin correctly.

“I’m sorry.”

“Disability check’s juicy.” Gavin replies.

Connor frowns. He’s not disabled. He tells Gavin as much.

  
“Scar’s enough. Bought me a Psx with this bad boy.” He says, indicating the scar crossing his nose with his index finger. “Almost worth getting kicked in the face.” 

Connor’s frown deepens. He’s not entirely sure what Reed is getting at. Was this some sort of weird mockery he didn’t quite understand. He doubted it. While Reed certainly hadn’t been kind to him in the beginning, he had slowly changed over the past year, and while Connor wouldn’t call him a friend, Reed wasn’t exactly rude toward him any longer. He was mostly just...an asshole, as Hank said.

“Your thirium is done.” Reed says, nodding toward the dispenser to his left. Connor turns back around, hearing the little beeps signalling the thirium is done once his right audio processor faces it.

Shame bubbles up within him again.

He takes it with a shaking hand, making his way toward one of the tables. To his surprise, Gavin follows him, sliding up on the chair opposite his. His eyes land on the two dots on Connor’s temple and Connor turns his head away from Reed.

“That dude fucked you up, didn’t he?” Reed states.

Connor’s head snaps toward Gavin, eyes wide. He tries to get a word out, but it’s as if there is something blocking his voice box. The lines in his vision grow stronger for a moment, the bleeding growing worse. He didn’t think anyone knew, didn’t want anyone to know, he realizes. He just wants things to go back to how they were.

“How?” He gets out.

“Takes one to know one.” Gavin points at his right ear before shrugging. “Born with it. 50% loss of hearing. Had an aid since before I could walk but, you know, it can only do so much.”

“But, you’ve never made any indication of-”

“Cause I don’t want you all on my dick! Ain’t no one’s business but my own what I can and can’t hear.” He shakes his head, taking a sip of his coffee and side eyeing Connor. Connor looks away.

“It’s pretty convenient when I’m at the shooting range tho.” He shrugs, turing back toward Connor. Connor stares at the table in front of him, at the prompts his social program deem good answers. His ocr software is almost fully functional again. Almost. 

“Guessing you haven’t told anyone.” 

Connor shakes his head. He doubts even Hank truly knows how deeply it’s affecting him.

“Alright.” Gavin sighs, stretching and grimacing as his back pops. Connor looks up at him, watching him down the last of his coffee. “I won’t tell.” He says before hopping off the chair and returning to the bullpen. His empty paper cup is left on the table.

“You forgot to throw away your cup, detective!” Connor calls after him. Gavin flips him off. 

A small smile tugs at the corner of Connor’s lip.

* * *

  
  
  


The story about the suspect being an android drops the next day. There are reporters waiting for him when he shows up at the station, asking the questions he’s been asking himself all this time.

  
“What made an android want to attack you?”

“Does this attack have to do with your original function?”

“Was it revenge?”

“When is Markus going to make a statement?”

Connor wonders the same.

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


“We do not condone the actions of the aggressor and we will do what we can to aid the DPD in their investigation. However, we cannot forget the real victim here. Our thoughts go out to Connor. We hope we can help you as you have helped so many in our community.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


Victim. 

The word blinks on his HUD as he lays on his bed in the dark room. The room that had once belonged to Cole. His now. 

Victim.

What the media calls him. What Markus calls him. What the report calls him, the case, Ben. 

Victim.

The word is ugly, somehow. It fills him with shame, like the white dots on his temple, and the looks that linger on his eye. 

He’s had many titles in his short life.

RK800

Connor

Deviant Hunter

Son

Officer

Victim

Victim burns almost as bad as Deviant Hunter. It makes his whole body heat up with shame. Shame over something he can’t control. Shame that shouldn’t even be his. Shame that is forced upon him by those around him.

By the looks that follow him, by the way people talk about him, by the way someone else’s actions affected him. 

He hates it. The word. His very core rebels at it, anger burning hot for a second as he stares at the word on is HUD. His vision glitches, and at once the anger slips away, washed away by an icy cold feeling.

The word disappears. 

The shame doesn’t.

* * *

  
  
  


He can’t hear Fowler calling his name. Hank has to kick his shin under their desks to get his attention. 

The shame burns hot.

* * *

  
  
  


On his third day patrolling he has to give chase. He stumbles as he takes a corner down an alleyway, falling over and hitting his head against the concrete.

His vision turns red for a moment, the fear like a bullet tears through his thirium pump. He gasps, struggling to get his hands back under him, blinking his eyes frantically to get the world back into focus. Please, please, focus, please, please.

He’s still gasping and blinking when Chris catches up to him, crouching down by him and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“You okay there, Connor?” He asks.

“I’m fine!” Connor snaps between gasps, the last bit of red bleeding out of his vision as it returns to norm- to what it is now. His legs fold under him as he tries to stand up. Chris has to steady him.

The shame burns hot.

  
  


* * *

  
  


**NATION’S FIRST ANDROID OFFICER LEFT IRREPARABLY DAMAGED AFTER ATTACK**

The image following the headline is of him, taken while he was out patrolling. A red circle highlights his left eye, leading toward a zoom in that shows the neon blue of his iris and the black bleeding into the white.

The world stares at it.

Hank tells him not to mind, curses at them for even allowing such a thing to go to print. 

The shame burns hot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like the fic leave me a sweet little comment telling me so! I promise it will make the updates come quicker!


	5. Fear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone again! Here I am, with yet another chapter. Please do remember that Connor is not in the best headspace and that we're only getting his pov

Markus wants to see him, wants to talk to him. Connor has been ignoring his past three messages. 

_ How are things going? _

_ Connor, are you doing okay? We’re here for you if you need anything. _

_ I just heard about your eye. I’m sorry. Is there anything we could do for you? _

He doesn’t want to talk to Markus. Yet he still makes his way over to Jericho on his day off. Hank had offered to come with him, but he declined the offer. He wants to do this alone. There is no reason for him not to do this alone. Hank wouldn’t have offered before, he shouldn’t need to offer now.

Markus is waiting for him when he arrives. He’s smiling, heterochromatic eyes squinting from it. His original optical unit had been damaged and he had needed to replace it for another. The same goes for his audio processor. He’s compatible with the newer lines of androids. 

Something ugly curls in Connor’s middle as he watches the heterochromatic eyes. 

“I’ve missed seeing you around.” Markus says as they walk deeper into Jericho. 

“I’ve been busy.” Connor replies, keeping his eyes trained forward. The androids they pass look at him, and despite knowing it shouldn’t be possible Connor can feel their eyes on him.

“Understandable.” Markus nods, inviting him into a room. Markus’ office, from the looks of it. Simon greets him inside, smiling as broadly as Markus had. Connor forces a smile onto his own lips.

“How are you doing?” Simon asks. “Sorry about your eye.” He adds.

The smile falls from Connor’s face.

“I’m fine.” He replies. Simon nods, but doesn’t say anything more. Connor is quick to change the subject.

  
“You wanted to talk to me.” He says to Markus who’s sat down on his desk, hands clasped lightly in his lap. Markus nods, gesturing for him to sit down. Connor does as he’s asked.

  
“I just wanted to check in on you, see how you’re doing.” Markus says. Connor shifts in the chair, waiting for a second before replying.

“I’m doing good.”

Markus nods, waiting for a moment before he opens his mouth again.

“Good to hear. We’ve been worried about you. The only update we’ve gotten is whatever is made public.” Markus says. Connor nods slowly. He’s not sure where this is going, and he’s not entirely sure he wants to find out. “When you didn’t respond to my messages I got worried that there might be something...wrong.” He finishes.

“I was busy.” Connor lies. He hasn’t been particularly busy. Not more than before, and if he had wanted to reply to Markus’ messages he could have. But every time he opens that text log he feels frustration bubble up in him again, ugly and aching. The many condolences the other had sent him. All of them felt so empty. So...professional. So devoid of any true understanding. Like the signed card on his desk. Get better soon. As if what happened wasn’t anything more than a cold for a human.

Markus sighs, looking away for a moment. Connor says nothing. Neither does Simon.

“I wanted to apologize.” Markus says, surprising Connor. “I think I hurt you, or offended you, during our messages. And I wanted to apologize.” 

“There is no need to apologize.” Connor replies before Markus can continue. The frustration he had felt during the text conversation is bubbling up within him again. He changes the subject before anyone can say anything else.

  
“Have you found out anything about who might have done it?” 

Markus’ eyes widens for a moments, meets Simon’s, and then returns to Connor.

  
“Well...” He begins.

“We’ve asked people to keep an eye out.” Simon says from his left. Connor wishes he would stand someplace else, so he could hear him better. Instead of voicing his wish, he turns in his chair, looking up at Simon. “But we don’t have a lot of contacts with androids outside of Jericho.”

Connor frowns at that, unsure what that has to do with anything. The android they’re looking for has the android freedom symbol tattooed on their wrist, it’s more than likely that they would be from within Jericho. Has Markus not been informed of that?

  
“And what about within Jericho?” He asks. It’s Simon who hesitates this time, looking over at Markus. They’re having a silent conversation, Connor realizes. A conversation about him. 

The shame burns hot.

“We have had no reason to believe that whoever did this is one of our own.” Markus says diplomatically. Always so diplomatic. Always so understanding. A saint. Could never do anything wrong.

Connor feels his hands tremble. Once again, Markus hasn’t even considered it. The thought hasn’t even crossed his mind. Someone attacked Connor. An android attacked him. Hadn’t Markus called Connor one of his own many times before, told him he was just as welcome as everyone else, despite his original purpose? Hadn’t he told him he fought for the freedom for  _ all _ androids.

Yet here is Connor, permanently damaged because Markus had agreed that his schematics wasn’t important enough to argue for. How is Connor ‘one of their own’ when Markus won’t even consider that an android could have hurt him, that that android could be affiliated with Jericho? 

No, Connor is not one of them. He has never been. The realization tastes bitter. He is a nice connection to the DPD, for Markus to use when he needs information and protection. And here Connor was, having fought so hard for every request Markus has made, because he wants to make a difference, he wants to make up for what he had done, for something that isn’t even his fault.

The shame burns hot.

  
“You just assumed that it couldn’t possibly be one of the androids in Jericho.” Connor asks. His vision glitches, lines rolling over Markus face, his heterochromatic eyes. 

  
“I wouldn’t say I-

“Just like you assumed it couldn’t possibly have been an android that had done it.” Connor continues to push.

  
“That’s not fair!” Simon protests. “How could we possibly have known that it was an android assailant?” 

“Connor, you know as well as I that I have to protect our people. I have to be very careful with what I say, or else it could backfire on all of us.” Markus tries to explain. “Do you have any idea of the backlash we’ve received after the information that the suspect allegedly is an android was released? I have to be careful, whether I like it or not” 

“Allegedly?” Connor echoes. He feels hollow, like someone has scooped out all of his bio components and left his chassis empty. His entire body is trembling, the anger burning almost as hot as the shame. 

“Until we know for sure I cannot-” Markus begins.

  
“I’m sorry I’ve cause you such trouble.” Connor stans up, his gyroscope struggling to keep him balanced for a moment. Markus’ mouth snaps shut, eyes growing wide, realization of what he has just said dawning on him.

  
“Connor I didn’t mean it like that.” He jumps down from the desk. 

“It’s fine. I understand.” Connor bites out, heading toward the door. He wants to get out of here. Get away from Markus, from Jericho, from it all. 

“Connor, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to imply that-”

The sound cuts off as he steps out of the door, becoming to faint for his audio processor to pick up. He starts walking, intent on getting out of here as quickly as possible. He has only taken two steps when Markus’ voice returns again.

  
“Connor wait!” 

Connor ignores it, ignores the eyes following him.

  
“Connor hold up! Let’s talk this through!” Simon calls, closer behind him. A hand lands on his bicep. His vision flashes red for a moment.

“Don’t touch me!” Connor spits as he pushes the hand off, meeting Simon’s upset eyes for a moment before he moves to walk away again. 

“This is about more than just you!” Simon calls, grabbing the front of his shirt to stop him.

The buzz of a taser sparks in Connor’s left ear, vision bleeding away to red, red, red. Preconstructions flash before his eyes, his processor choosing one faster than he can analyse them. 

When the fog of panic clears, Simon is on his knees in front of him, an expression of pain on his face and his wrist grasped firmly in Connor’s grip, hand pushed back and down in a way Connor knows strained the wrist.

“Let him go you piece of shit!” Something collides with his side, making Connor stumble and lose his footing. He lands hard on his side, hands coming out to stop his head from hitting the ground. 

“This is why no one wants you here!” The android that pushed him continues, fury clear in their voice. Connor scrambles to get his feet back under him, wanting to leave, to get away from here. 

“You’re nothing more than a fucking puppet for the humans! You’re still hunting us! An obedient little blood under under different masters!”

He is pushed again, landing hard on his back. He scrambles backwards as quickly as he can, away from the android, a GS200 with dark red hair and steely, grey eyes. 

“Victoria should have zapped you again, and then we might have been rid of you for good!” The GS200 spits. Voices of agreement shouted out around him. 

Connor scrambles up to his feet, stumbling backwards as the GS200 continued to advance. His eyes search for anyone who could help him, locking with Markus’. 

  
The other is still standing by the door, not making any move to stop the androids advancing in on him. Neither is Simon. They were just standing there. Watching. Waiting.

Connor turns on his heel, running as quickly as his shaking legs can carry him. Out, away from there, away from the androids, and the GS200 with hatred burning in his eyes, and the voices of agreement.

He can barely see where he’s running, the world static around him. His gyroscope struggles to keep him upright, his entire body feeling out of alignment with itself. His left ear crackles and pops, like it had when he had been laying there, fear too large for his body, drowned in red, red, red, red, red.

He crashes into a lamp-post, losing his balance and hitting a wall with a groan. His legs give out and he sinks down to the ground. His vision is still glitching. He can’t make out anything. Warnings flash before him but he can’t read them. And it’s happening again. It’s happening again. It’s happening again.

He presses his hands to his optical units, trying to fix them, trying to blink the glitches and blur away, but it won’t go away. It won’t. And he can’t see anything. And his ear crackles and pop and he can’t hear anything. And he doesn’t know where he is. And it’s happening again.

And-

And-

And-

And-

He can’t breathe. His system is going haywire. He can’t stop it. He can’t breathe. He can’t see. He can’t think. He can’t- He can’t-

  
  


* * *

  
  


Detective Reed’s voice breaks through the crackle, like it had done the first time.

_ “Woah, woah woah there Connor! Fuck!”  _

* * *

  
  
  


His vision returns when he’s laying in the back of Officer Chen’s patrol vehicle, slowly clearing until all that remains are the ever constant lines, the bleeding. Tina is holding his hand, smiling gently at him.

Outside, he can hear Gavin scream something into his phone.

* * *

  
  
  


Markus and Simon are at the station when he arrives there, sitting by Bed Collins’ desk. He barely has time to register they’re there before Hank is pulling him into a hug, chasing away the last of the trembles.

When Hank lets go again, many long moments later, Detective Collins’ desk is empty, and Markus and Simon are no where in sight.

* * *

  
  
  


“The android that attacked a fellow android and police officer earlier this month was today apprahended by the police after a witness came forward with new information. Apparently, the witness overheard a fellow android brag about the attack. How this revelation will shape the android community is yet to be seen. As we speak there has been no official statement from Jericho regarding the situation”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be too mad at me, or markus! Things will get better I promise uwu
> 
> Thank you all for your sweet comments, they really motivate me!


	6. Boiling over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello. I've been playing so much animal crossing I have barely written since it came out. Woopsie. But now I'm back! Thank you all for your sweet comments, they make my writing heart happy

Connor heads toward his room the moment he gets home, wanting to be alone. He’s still trembling, feelings he has yet to identify swirling inside of him. 

They had known.

They had known who it was. And they hadn’t done anything about it. They would rather protect their own than come forward with a criminal. They would rather he never knows who it was, never finds out, never- never-

The anger boils,he hasn’t felt it boil before. It’s melting his vision, making it harder than it should be to make out the short walk to his room, away from Hank, from everyone. It boils hot enough to hold back all the other things.

“Connor. Connor!” Hank calls after him. Connor closes the door between them, barely able to keep himself from slamming it. A moment later he feels the handle being pressed down. He grips it harder, stopping Hank from being able to open the door.

“Connor! Let me in!” The words are muffled through the door. It reminds him of when he had first woken up. He grips the door tighter.

“You can’t just close the door on me, Connor!” 

Connor doesn’t retort that he obviously can.

Hank’s fist bangs on the door a moment later. Hard. Harder than necessary. Connor still doesn’t ease his grip on the handle. It continues to bang, the door shaking with it, Hank shouting his name between bangs. 

Connor presses his shoulder against the door, feeling the bangs shake him too. He doesn’t know why he’s not letting Hank in. He just isn’t. He doesn’t know why he does a lot of things. The anger boils.

The bangs stop. 

A moment of silence passes, and another, and another. 

Connor remains pressed against the door. He rests his forehead against the wood, hand still gripping the handle hard enough for his skin projection to cut out where the metal digs into the plastic.

A muffled mumble reaches his functioning audio processor. It matches with Hank’s voice. He can’t make out the words. Had both his audio processors worked, he would have. But they don’t. And he can’t.

The muffled mumble continues, and continues. Connor can’t move. He presses his right ear against the door. It doesn’t help. He can’t hear it. The anger boils up into his throat, burning the back of it. 

He can’t hear.

Keeping his ear pressed against the door, he slides down to his knees. His hand lingers on the handle for a moment longer before it slips off, pressing desperately against the door. He wants to tell Hank to speak up, so he can hear him. He wants to tell Hank to come in, that he won’t stop him again. He wants to tell Hank to start over from the beginning.

He can’t. The anger burns his throat, consuming the words before they can slip out, burns in his eyes, in his chest. He closes his eyes. He can’t see. He can’t hear.

He feels so alone.

* * *

  
  
  


Fowler offers him the day off the following day. He comes in anyway. He just wants things to be like before.

* * *

  
  
  


Him and Hank barely talk for a week. They get up, get ready, got to the station, work, go home. Hank drinks. Connor shuts himself in his room. 

The anger still burns so strong, the back of his throat, his eyes, his thirium pump. Despite it having stopped boiling long ago it still burns. He can’t do anything about it. He doesn’t know what to do about it. He doesn’t know how to make it stop.

_ I’m sorry _

The message goes out to Markus. To Simon, North and Josh. He doesn’t know what for. Maybe it will stop the burn.

It doesn’t. 

He gets only one message back. Hours later. From Markus.

_ You have nothing to apologize for. _

Minutes later, another follows.

_ I think it’s best if we talk face to face, Connor. _

He doesn’t agree. There has to be something he should apologize for. There must have been something he has done wrong. (He knows what he’s done wrong.  _ Deviant hunter _ . He knows he hasn’t made things right, hasn’t done enough.) 

He’s the first victim to a planned out android on android assault. There is a reason for that. He deserved it. He deserves being left out of Markus’ protection. He deserves to be left out of Jericho, and android kind. He deserves to have his vision glitch. He deserves to have his audio processor broken. He deserves the two dots on his temple and the broken projection of his eye.

He sends the same message to Hank a moment later. Whatfor, he doesn’t know. It just feels like he should. Surely he must have something to apologize for, something he has done wrong. 

Yet, everything still burns.

So bad.

So so bad.

The sound of the door to his room slamming open, almost flying off the hinges, makes him jump. Hank is looking at him with wild eyes, his breathing erratic.

They stare at each other for a long moment before Hank says, in a whisper so low Connor barely manages to catch it.

“Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine, lieutenant.” Connor replies.

At once, the tension leaves Hank’s body, the human doubling over for a second as if he has ran a marathon. Then, a moment later, he growls, straightening and glaring at Connor.

“What the fuck was that?!” He spits. Connor can tell he’s been drinking, even without his sensors picking up the traces of whiskey in his beard.

“What?” Connor asks.

“That fucking message! What were you thinking?! Sending a message like that! I thought you were- It sounded like you were- It sounded like a-” The anger bleeds out of his words. “I got scared.”

Connor looks at him for a moment later, lines rolling over Hank’s body, before turning away. 

“There is nothing to be scared of. I’m obviously fine.” He says.

“Well how am I supposed to know that?” Hank asks. “You haven’t talked to me for a week! You lock yourself away in here when we’re home and I don’t see you at the station! You disappear off to Jericho and two hours later I get a phonecall from Gavin about how someone found you panicking and unresponsive on some street! At the same time we get a fucking call from Markus telling us he knows who attacked you. And then, when we finally get back home you refuse to talk to me and tell me what happened!”

Hank is almost shaking from anger. Connor is trembling. The burning is so strong, anger. At what, doesn’t matter. Anger. So much anger.

Hank stares at him for a moment longer. Connor doesn’t return his gaze. With every passing second Hank’s anger seems to simmer out, while Connor’s keep burning hotter and hotter and hotter.

“Why do I even try.” Hank sighs, moving to close the door. “Poured my fucking heart out to you last week and you just ignore it. Do the same today and woop, same thing. God I need a fucking drink.”

The anger boils over.

“THIS ISN’T ABOUT YOU!” Connor screams, standing up and facing Hank. “This is about me!  _ I _ was the one who was attacked!  _ I _ !  _ ME _ !” He is shaking, his vision is icy blue and grey, cold. Hank is staring at him in shock. 

“This isn’t about Markus! Or his stupid Jericho!” He continues to scream. He can’t stop screaming. “They weren’t hurt! Neither were you! I was! I WAS!” 

“I know Connor.” Hank’s voice is soft. He’s holding up a hand as if to placate him. Connor grabs whatever is nearest to him. It’s a picture frame. He hurls it at Hank. It shatters against the wall.

“YOU DON’T CARE!” He wants to throw more things. He grabs something else. He doesn’t know what. He just wants to destroy it. “None of you care! You only care about yourself!” It slams against the wall.

“YOU GIVE ME A FUCKING GET BETTER CARD AND THINK THAT MAKES ANYTHING BETTER!?” He feels like he’s breaking apart. “Did it feel good?! To sign your name on that thing and pat yourself on the shoulder?!” 

“CONNOR STOP IT!” Hank roars, no longer gentle. Connor grabs something else. Hank rushes forward, grabbing hold of his wrists. Connor spins, twisting his hands and easily breaking free of the grip. 

“Or what?!” He hisses. He has his back to the open door now. He takes a step back, easily dodging when Hank lunges for him again. “You’ll feel bad again? Will you be sad again? Will it be hard for you again?”

He’s breaking apart. His body is shaking so bad. He can’t hear what Hank replies for the crackling in his ear. Blackness is eating away at the left side of his vision. Bite by bite, it disappears. 

He’s backed out into the corridor. Hank is by the door. The world is reeling. All that is real is the anger. He clings to it as more and more of him disappears. 

“SHUT UP!” He screams at Hank as the other opens his mouth again. He doesn’t want to hear. He can’t hear. He can’t hear. And he can barely see. And he’s so angry because “IT’S NOT FAIR!” 

The world is spinning around him. His gyroscope is struggling to keep him upright. It’s still not fully calibrated. It never will be. Neither will his optical unit, or his audio processor. They will always be broken and “It’s not fair!” 

Hank is closer now. He’s not backing away anymore. He’s just shaking. The crackling is so loud. So so loud. Over-powering. He wants it to stop. He presses his hand against his ear. Warnings flash on his HUD. He can’t read them. He’s breaking apart. 

“Make it stop!” He backs into the wall, slides down against it. He can’t see anything out of his left optical unit. He can’t hear anything. Hank is in front of him. He can’t hear what he’s saying. He can’t read the warnings. He can’t see. He’s drowning again. He’s breaking apart.

Hank’s hands grab his shoulders, presses over the hand against his ear, brushes over his hair, grabs his free hand. He’s frantic, talking, asking. Connor shakes his head. Stop! Please. 

His hands claws against his audio processor, against the deafening crackle, so much like the taser, too much like the taser. The next second blessed silence washes over him as he throws the piece of broken technology across the floor.

Stillness, for a moment. Hank’s hand still holding his, his eyes still seeking his. Rasping breaths, his own or Hank’s he doesn’t know. He blinks as his vision slowly returns, colour bleeding into the blue grey.

Hank takes a deep breath.

  
So does Connor.

“What’s wrong, son?” Hank asks.

The floodgates burst open.

* * *

  
  
  


He tells Hank everything. He can’t stop once he starts. He tells him about how the blurry vision stalls his entire system, forces him into uncertainty. He tells him about how his right audio processor is completely non functioning, and how it feels like there is a wall between himself and reality. He tells him about his gyroscope, and how he feels like he can’t trust himself. He tells him about his ocr reader and how everything that came so effortlessly suddenly is a struggle.

He tells him about the crackling of the taser, the red, red, red, red, red. Of drowning in fear and panic. Of the electricity rippling across his processor, and his systems shutting down one by one and how he couldn’t see and he couldn’t hear and he couldn’t do anything.

He tells him about the shame, the looks, the burning anger or fear or shame or frustration. He tells him about how he doesn’t want it to be like this. How he wants to go back. How unfair it feels, how it’s not even his fault but somehow it feels like it is and how he still can’t do anything and he’s so so alone.

Hank doesn’t say anything. Hank listens. Hank waits for him when the tears overwhelm him and he feels like screaming again. Hank keeps holding his hand through it all.

Hank tells him it’s okay, once the words and the tears run out. And for the first time in a month, Connor feels like it might be.


End file.
